


One Word

by hardboiledbaby



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Community: watsons_woes, M/M, Post-Canon, Retirement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-09 23:22:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19486102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hardboiledbaby/pseuds/hardboiledbaby
Summary: An old literary journal brings up painful memories.





	One Word

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Watson's Woes JWP 2019 Collection, July 4th prompt: [**Nothing So Good As A Good Book** : _Include a favorite book or work of literature in your entry today._](https://watsons-woes.dreamwidth.org/1912264.html)
> 
> Written at a fever pitch and unbeta'd; pls pardon the *waves hands* everything

Holmes looked up as I entered the sitting room, a stack of dusty papers, journals, and notebooks in my arms.

"More fodder for your next story, Watson?" 

I nodded, setting down the pile on my writing desk. "We really do need to work on the library, Holmes. We've been here for months now, yet more than half of the boxes are still unpacked." 

Holmes grunted, unconcerned by my remonstrative tone. Since retirement he had less need of his commonplace books and reference materials, busy as he was with his new beekeeping endeavors. He had, however, brought all of those materials with us to Sussex Downs, and it fell to me to hunt through the numerous unmarked boxes for my own things. 

"By the way," I said, "I didn't recognise this, is it yours?" I held up an old issue of _The Cornhill Magazine_ , quite battered and well-worn. 

Holmes stared at it blankly for a moment, then his eyes widened. Without answering, he took the magazine from me and carefully opened the yellowed cover. On the first page it read, " _The White Company_ , by A. Conan Doyle, the author of 'Micah Clarke'. Chapter XII." A hint of color arose in his cheeks.

At length I said, "Something to do with a case, then?" 

He shook his head and smiled at me. "No, not for a case." 

That surprised me a bit, and I said so. "Didn't think that Doyle fellow was much in your line."

"More in yours," he agreed. "But I had my reasons."

"Care to share them with me?" I asked, perching myself on the arm of his chair. 

The flush deepened and he let out a laugh. Wrapping an arm around my waist, he pulled me down into his lap.

"Very well." He held up the magazine so we could both see it. "Notice anything of import?"

I shook my head.

"The date, man. Look at the date."

May 1891.

_Dear God. Right after—_

"Yes." 

Even after all these years, the memory of Reichenbach Falls was painfully vivid, and I was grateful for the reassurance of Holmes' arms about me.

"I came across it before I departed for Tibet some weeks later, left behind in a train by a fellow traveler. It is, as you say, not the sort of material that would normally interest me. However, I had nothing else with which to pass the time, so I began to glance through it." He let the journal fall open in his hands. "And I saw this."

Holmes read aloud, his lips close to my ear:

_"You are of such value to me that all else has become nought. You are my heart, my life, my one and only thought. I cannot live without you, I cannot leave you without a word of love. All is changed to me since I have known you. I am poor and lowly and all unworthy of you; but if great love may weigh down such defects, then mine may do it. Give me but one word of hope to take to the wars with me—but one."_

"Holmes..." Shocked and profoundly moved, I turned to face him.

"I could not say words such as these to you then," he said, then chuckled slightly. "Indeed, not these _particular_ words, ever." 

"No," I said, smiling. "Rather too purple for you, I daresay."

He nodded, then his face grew pained. "As matters stood at the time, I could not tell you how I felt, I did not have the right. I could not ask even for that one word of hope, so I left you with nothing but loss and mourning.

"I traveled extensively abroad in the period that followed, as you know," he continued. "I was a stranger in many a strange land, disguised so as not to be recognised as an Englishman. I had to take every precaution so as not to betray myself. It was sheer folly to carry this on my person. Yet I could not part with it." He ran his fingers over the page. "It became the letter I could not write, my _raison d'etre_ , until I could return home and find the right words to say what was in my heart."

I took his hand and pressed a kiss into his palm. "And so you did."

"No regrets, John?"

Any consulting detective worth his salt would certainly have deduced the answer to that question without ever asking it. I had, after all, forgiven him his deception a long time ago. But perhaps an exception can be made for a retired consulting detective, this one time. 

"You are my heart, my life, my one and only thought. I have no regrets, Holmes."

With that, further words were not needed. Holmes let go of the magazine, of the past. It slipped away, unnoticed.

**Author's Note:**

> The book that fulfills the prompt* is, as you have already figured out, [_The White Company_](https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Special:Search/The_White_Company), written by A. C. Doyle himself. 
> 
> According to [Wikipedia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Cornhill_Magazine), _The Cornhill Magazine_ was "a literary journal with a selection of articles on diverse subjects and serialisations of new novels," one of which was ACD's _The White Company_ , a historical adventure set during the Hundred Years' War. I found a copy of the January-June 1891 bound volume at [The Internet Archive](https://archive.org/details/newcornhill16londuoft/page/458). The May issue does begin with Chapter XII, but the relevant quote is found in Chapter XIII. 
> 
> (* I confess, it is a stretch to call this novel a "favorite" of mine; more 'it is a novel I know exists'? The quote used, however, is 💖💖💖)


End file.
